In the Dark
by Addai
Summary: Idun Mahariel finally learns what Morrigan wants, something less sinister but more wrenching than she had ever imagined.


An ironbark dagger came out of the dark and caught Morrigan at her throat, bared from having an arm twisted back behind her. Neither woman moved.

"You thought to catch me unawares." Idun spoke close to her ear. "You overheard Riordan, I take it. Thought I would be too upset, too distracted to hear you skulking at my door, but you forget that I am Dalish. I know when I am hunted. I have been watching you for some time, Morrigan, and I know that your time is running out. Now we will finish this, whatever it is you came here to do."

"You are mistaken," Morrigan replied. Despite her usual bravado, the mage's voice was was edged with fear as the ironbark point rested on her skin. With a blade as sharp as this it would take only a light movement, even accidental, to cut her jugular. "Quite mistaken. I was in the hall, yes, but it is I who am distracted. If I was 'skulking, it was because of that. I only wish to talk. Can we do that? Or are you a murderer now, Warden?"

"Why not?" The Dalish woman's tone was cold. "Is this not what Flemeth has made us, you and me? She consumes life to feed her own, and that is what she taught me to do. We are both her daughters, in kind if not in flesh. I know what you want but I will watch you bleed before you get it."

Morrigan's lip twitched as though she would smile, but it didn't carry. "What is it that you think you know?"

"The darkspawn taint has power. You heard the Warden mage Avernus say it, but you already knew it before we met him. I have read the grimoire, Morrigan." Morrigan's eyes flickered with shock. When the Wardens came back from killing Flemeth, Idun had told her that they had not found Flemeth's grimoire, the book that held the secrets to the witch's power. That had been a lie. The Dalish mage had been secretly studying the tome ever since. She had not worked out all the ciphers yet, not nearly all, but she was not going to tell Morrigan that. Besides, she had worked out enough that her suspicions had been confirmed.

"The grimoire," Morrigan gasped, voice hoarse with tension as the knife point still rested on her skin. "But you said…"

"Neither of us has played our cards, Morrigan, but now we will lay them out. The grimoire speaks of the old gods. The taint and the old gods are linked, one calls out to the other, and only Wardens can possess the taint and yet live. So what is it to be? After we had done the work of gathering the armies, what was Flemeth's plan to get some Warden blood for herself? You possess me, mind control me? Use my life force or Alistair's to power some spell? And what do you hope to gain? I have overheard the friendly chats of the archdemon with his minions in my dreams, and I can tell you that he is not the sort who bargains with witches to augment their power. You and Flemeth should stick to demons."

Then something happened which was the last thing Idun expected. A tear formed at the corner of Morrigan's eye and, with a flicker of eyelash, began its course down the woman's cheek. In her surprise, Idun relaxed the blade a bit, and finally lowered it, releasing Morrigan's bent-back arm. The Dalish Warden remained wary, holding the dagger at ready, as Morrigan stepped away.

Morrigan brushed at the tear hastily. In the time it took her to slowly turn, her expression had hardened and her tone become bitter. "I see that have been an even greater fool than you are being now. I was surprised when you killed Flemeth even with no hope of reward. I had thought perhaps... Never mind, there is no time. You think the worst of me, I see, and that is your right. I can do nothing about that now. In this much you are correct, Warden: I do seek an old god, I do want Warden blood for myself, and since the Orlesians will never make it in time, it must be Alistair from whom I take it."

"I will kill you first, I swear it. You will never…"

"A child! A child." Morrigan blurted out the words and they hung in the air a moment. "I want a child from him, nothing more."

The ironbark dagger clattered to an end table and then the silence was too thick in which to breathe. Finally Morrigan began to explain herself while Idun lit the fire in the hearth, all the while trying to make her mind follow yet another whiplash of emotions that this night had brought her. First Riordan had given them the news that a Warden must be sacrificed, body and soul, in order to kill the archdemon for good. Now there was this: A slim, crazy hope that felt more like despair.

"There must be another way," Idun replied, grasping.

"There is no other way."

"No. No. You could… take the taint from me. Go find a soldier, anyone, there must be dozens who would sleep with you on a night like this. Get a child from him and then take the taint from me for its blood. The archdemon will seek out the child for its taint, but it needn't be a father's taint. I will not resist you, I will even help you. Surely with another blood mage…"

"Listen to yourself!" Morrigan shook her head and scowled. "You would dally about with Alistair's life, with your own life, and for what? Do you think that I am playing games, Warden?" When Idun remained silent, her tone softened, reasoning. "You disappoint me, truly. You said that I had forgotten you are Dalish, but it seems to me that _you_ have forgotten it. We are practical people, you and I. We know that survival is the only thing that matters. You are afraid of the battle as we all are, and you do not trust me, but do not let these things cloud your mind. It is one simple task: Convince Alistair to lay with me. After the battle, I go. Neither of you follow. You live as a hero, together with your love, and we put right what the taint did to an ancient power." There was a long pause, and the mage said earnestly, pleadingly, "This will_ work_."

Idun sank into a chair and tried to make it all make sense. She had guessed that there would be a cost someday for what she took from Flemeth, but had been determined to take it on herself. When the witch had seen her and Alistair coming to her hut prior to Ostagar, she must have seen the opportunity then. It made sense now why she had saved both of them, not only Idun who was already indebted to and linked to her. If they went ahead with this, there would be a child in the world who was Alistair's but not hers. His child, if it lived, would become a pawn in Morrigan's and Flemeth's schemes more truly than she had ever been between Flemeth and her clan. Alistair's love for one night, Alistair's baby, his respect for Idun and for himself. It was so small a price, and yet it was everything. Morrigan was wrong. Survival was not all that mattered.

As through a fog, she heard her own voice speaking. "My keeper, Marethari, once had a dream about me. I stood before a great storm, held out my hand and the storm obeyed me. It did not destroy the clan, but I was taken up into it." Idun stopped and looked up. Morrigan was waiting, saying nothing, her eyes intent on the Warden. "What if the Creators will that I should die? What if this thing that must be done, to destroy the archdemon, is my fate?"

Morrigan's reply was a quiet appeal. "There will be other storms. Let this one pass you by. Or do you wish to risk that it might take up not only you, but your love as well?"

"I think it already has."

* * *

Idun was still hovering near Alistair's door ten minutes later. Eamon had given them separate rooms, though they had planned to spend the night in Alistair's. Meanwhile Morrigan waited in Idun's chamber for the outcome of this talk, if she could ever bring herself to do it. Idun could hear Alistair clattering around inside, removing armor and getting ready for bed. They had thrown back a darkspawn attack in Redcliffe only just that morning; a feint, as it turned out, for the movement of the rest of the horde towards Denerim. The Wardens and Eamon had made a strategic decision to wait one night to give the rest of their armies time to come up. The Fereldan and Orzammar forces, many weary from marching and battered from their respective civil wars, also needed a last chance to rest. They would leave early, however. Morrigan was right that there was little time tonight in which to ponder her options.

She had to get herself under control. When she approached Alistair, she must be resolute, calm, reassuring. The furthest thing from resolute or calm, Idun started up, and nearly ran into Zevran who had come up behind her. The assassin moved quietly even when he didn't need to.

"Zev," Idun sputtered shakily, trying to smile. "How are you? I was just…" She fell silent with a vague gesture towards Alistair's door.

Zevran gazed at her appraisingly, eyebrow lifted. "You were just… falling apart, I think."

"Is it that obvious?" Idun's shoulders sagged. Alistair would see right through her and his defenses would be up in an instant. This would never work.

The Antivan smiled sympathetically and clasped her arm. "You are sorrowful," he judged, the warm accent of Antiva making even this word sound lush. "You have something to lose now, more than your own life. Once I might not have understood this, but I think now that I do."

In spite of everything, Idun smiled a little, but it vanished soon and anguish replaced it in her expression. "What do I do, Zev?" There was no time to explain the details to him, but it was not the first time she had turned to her friend with this question. The former Crow always seemed to come up with something that made sense.

Zevran glanced from Alistair's door back to the Warden and paused. Finally he answered, "Do not trust to second chances. Regret lasts a long, long time, my dear Grey Warden." Idun recognized that he spoke for himself as well as her. Hesitating, she reached up and put her arms around him. Zevran allowed it, even relaxed a little in it, but after a moment gently pushed her back. "Whatever you are looking for, carina, it is not found in hallways."

* * *

She lay motionless on her side in the dark, eyes closed. Every part of Idun's body ached with exhaustion, but sleep was far from her. Silence hung over the bedchamber like an accusation. It felt like there was a weight on all her limbs, but this was only the paralysis of helplessness. There was no spell she could cast that would make this all disappear. There was no book to consult. No healing magic could take away the sickness in the pit of her stomach. She was the Warden; everyone looked to her for miracles, for action, but now there was simply nothing to do.

When he returned, he went to the washroom, saying nothing. Idun lay with her back to him, but listened as Alistair splashed water. She heard him sniffle once, then he seemed to hesitate, lingering longer than he had to. Finally he came to the bed and slipped in beside her, lying lightly against her back though barely touching. After another moment his arm reached across her, and he carefully placed his hand over hers on the bed. He was shaking. She could feel the heat of exertion on his skin, which told her that it was done. A soft, anguished noise escaped her throat. This stirred Alistair and he moved closer behind her, pressing his face into her neck and kissing it. It only made the hurt worse. _He_ was trying to comfort _her_? Desperately Idun wanted to find something to say that would ease them both: Tell him how relieved she was that he had done it, how sorry she was for having asked him, how afraid she was that they would die in the battle anyway and that she had made him do this thing for nothing, on a night that should have been theirs alone.

"Thank you," she whispered through tears, turning her palm up and clasping the hand that covered hers. It was all she could think to say.

In pre-dawn they both awoke from the clatter of movement of soldiers and servants in the courtyard below their window, preparing for the day's march. Though they would have to move soon themselves, they lay quietly for a while, putting off the moment when they would have to don armor and be warriors, be war leaders. Neither spoke. For Idun, the fear of what lay ahead was mixed with the shame of the previous night. Much as she wanted to think it just a bad dream, it was not, and it was between them now. Therefore she murmured in surprise when Alistair turned and began to slide up her sleep shift. She had thought he might never want to touch her again, let alone on the very night she had sent him to another woman.

He pressed his mouth to her ear and whispered hoarsely, "Please, one last time. We might not have another chance." Idun gave in readily, with a mixture of relief and sorrow. She wondered if he was trying to erase the memory of the other. They were tender, careful at first, though in the end the fear that they might lose one another gripped them both and mimicked passion.

When they had finished and lay quietly again, the morning grey had begun to fill the room. Some of the hurt was gone simply because they had been able to hold one another again and remind each other of what they had to live for. Morrigan was right that compared to her darker suspicions about what Flemeth could ask of her, the ritual was not the worst thing. It at least gave them all a chance at something better. Maybe it would work out. Regardless, it was done now. As she and Alistair rose and prepared for battle, other thoughts receded and Idun found herself fixed on one: Whatever Morrigan had done, Creators please just _let it work_.

* * *

_Author's note: This story relies heavily on the comic The Revelation, writen by David Gaider and illustrated by aimo. Aimo's other works about the Dark Ritual also provided inspiration. -A._


End file.
